


so sick of running as fast as I can

by inlovewithnight



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Biting, M/M, Mating, Psychic Wolves, consent issues inherent to the trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: Jack's been bonded long enough to know how mating goes. He's used to it. Usually he isn't in the locker room shower at the time, but that kind of luck is typical for his life.
Relationships: Jack Johnson/Mike Sullivan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	so sick of running as fast as I can

**Author's Note:**

> This bears more resemblance to Dragonriders of Pern mating flights than actual wolf behavior, but they're soulbonded psychic wolves, blame it on that.

Jack knows it’s coming, obviously; part of the whole soulbond thing is that he feels what Ella feels, and she’s been feeling edgy and warm and something he can only describe as _ripe_ for the last few days. It’s distracting, but they’ve been together for a long time, and he knows how to handle it until she goes on her mating run. 

As usual, his teammates with male wolves catch on around day three, and he knows that because they start bugging the shit out of him. 

Geno comes up behind him in the dressing room and basically pins him to the wall, sniffing the back of his neck. “JJ,” he says, voice low and accent thicker than usual, sounding more like _Zhay zhay_ as his hands settle on either side of Jack’s shoulders, boxing him in. “Veter say you need company tonight.” 

Jack snorts and jabs his elbow back into Geno’s ribs. “I really doubt he did.” 

“Well, he say something else, but that’s the part that matters.” 

“Ella’s gonna choose who she wants. I don’t get a say.” He turns around in the circle of Geno’s arms, so they’re nose to nose. “Back up, okay?” 

Geno rolls his eyes, but drops his arms and steps back. “Think about it! Veter best, Ella choose him.” 

Ella actually doesn’t care for Veter much at all, but Jack knows better than to talk shit about someone else’s wolf. “If that’s the case, you know where to find me.” 

Dumo is the only other guy in the room with a female wolf, and he catches Jack’s eye with a sympathetic nose-scrunch. “Hang in there, dude.” 

“I give it a couple more hours.” Jack sighs and pulls his t-shirt off, poking through his bag for a clean one. “She’s out in the north parking lot right now, it’s too warm for her inside, so that’s a pretty good sign, you know?” 

“Yeah, Kesa saw her when you guys got in. She’s not due for another few weeks and she’s got all kinds of sympathy.” He makes another face. “So do I.” 

“What, Dumo?” Kris smacks him on the shoulder. “You know Gagneur will get her and you’ll get me. Nothing to even worry about.” He turns his smile to Jack, who bites back a sigh, because Kris’ eyes are half-glazed and he’s showing too many teeth. “Ella too, eh, Jack? Defense sticks together.” 

“Ella has no concept of defense versus anything else.” He wishes he’d brought his stick back to his stall with him; it would be handy for fending the guys off right now. “Personal space, Tanger.” 

“Just trying to talk to you. Have a conversation.” 

“I don’t need my leg humped.” He looks around the room, hoping Sid will come back from his meeting with the coaches. The bonded guys in the Pens room put respect behind the captain being the alpha, unlike some teams; if Sid tells them to back off, they’ll actually do it. 

Schultz comes in from the trainers’ room, shaking his head and grinning. “Marino’s fuckin’ hiding in there. He doesn’t want to even be in the same room as you, JJ.” 

Jack groans and goes back into his bag in search of clean socks. “Seriously?” 

“I think he’s afraid he’ll embarrass himself.” Schultz cackles and shoulder-checks Kris out of his way. “I guess his wolf is all up on yours, or wants to be. You wolf guys are too funny sometimes.” 

“Don’t be anti-bonded trash, Schultzy.” Kris comes right back into his space to ruffle Schultz’s hair and then slap Jack’s ass. “You’ll hurt our feelings and we can have our partners eat you.” 

“ _Tanger_ ,” Dumo sighs. “Stop living up to every cliché, man.” 

Jack tunes them out, focusing on getting his clothes together so he can shower, get dressed, and get home. Call him old-fashioned, but if he has the option of getting through the mating run by just jerking off til he chafes himself, he’ll take it. This isn’t Columbus, where the room was basically all bonded guys and they functioned almost like a pack. Pitt is actually unbonded-majority, and it makes him feel like he should keep things a little more buttoned up. Not live up to the clichés, to borrow from what Dumo and Kris are still bickering about. 

He reaches out through his bond to check in with Ella. She's under Geno’s stupid SUV, taking advantage of the shade, deeply annoyed with the male wolves who are circling hopefully but keeping a good distance. Her impression of each of them is blurry and vague when transferred to her bondmate, far more scent than image, but by comparison Jack can tell that Veter, Gagneur, Marino’s Sergeant, and Sullivan’s Declan are all trying to wait her out. Good luck with that. 

Jack politely requests that she not go for Sergeant if she does pick a teammate’s wolf. He doesn’t want the kid to have a heart attack while hiding in the trainers’ room. Ella does not give one flying shit about his polite requests, and informs him of such in no uncertain terms. Jack sighs and backs out of the bond space. Right. Okay then. 

Sid comes clomping into the room and Jack feels the mood in the room change, everyone’s attention turning toward their alpha. Captain. Whatever. Sid seems to feel it, too, pausing at his stall to look around at them and blink. 

“Wow,” he says after a minute. “You guys are extra-wolfy today. What’s that about?” 

Geno smiles, showing a lot of teeth. “Johnson’s bitch is in heat.” 

“Don’t _say_ it like that,” Jack sighs, banging his forehead against the edge of his stall. “Seriously?” 

Geno is, as ever, unrepentant. Sid’s nostrils flare a little and he gives Jack a sympathetic look, but turns back to his stall and starts getting changed without saying anything to anyone. Not even asking Kris to stop trying to touch Jack’s ass. “Get _away_ from me,” Jack hisses at him, just as Sullivan walks into the room and clears his throat. 

“Boys,” he says, looking around at them, “good work this morning. Tomorrow’s optional skate, but if you’re not on the ice I want to see you in the weight room unless the trainers wave you off. Let’s do one-on-ones tomorrow afternoon, too. I’ll put a clipboard outside my office, make sure you sign up for a timeslot. Don’t make me have to come looking for any of you.” He pauses for a significant beat. “Malkin.” 

“Is not a big deal,” Geno groans, “just the _one time_ …" 

“Just make sure you show up, I’m not gonna…” Sully trails off, blinking, and Jack feels cold tingles run down his spine. From the way Dumo stands bolt upright, he feels it, too. Geno and Kris take a step back from where Sully’s standing, and they all hear Marino yelp in alarm from the trainers’ room. 

The moment stretches out long enough that Jack wonders if he should bolt, before Sully shakes it off, one hand lifting to dazedly rub over his eyes. “Right,” he says. “Okay. We, uh. We’ll deal with that later. Johnson?” 

Jack feels like a spotlight just clicked on, one aimed directly at his face. “Me?” 

“Is there another one on the team?” It doesn’t have quite Sully’s usual bite behind it, but Jack keeps his mouth shut anyway. “I didn’t think so. You… you should go use the other showers.” 

It’s Jack’s turn to blink. “The other showers?” 

“The other locker room.” Sully stares at him for a long moment, like he wants to carve Jack’s chest open with his eyes. “Give everyone some space.” 

“You’re kicking me out of the locker room?” It takes Jack a minute to realize he’s running a beat slow, behind everyone else, and another minute after that to recognize why. Oh. Apparently Ella isn’t going to give him the extra few hours, or even forty minutes or whatever to shower and get home. This is happening in the extremely near future. 

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, pulling his towel tighter around his waist and not-quite-bolting for the door. The other locker room. The fucking... visitors’ room. Right. Give the non-bonded guys some space from the awkwardness of Jack, personally, needing some privacy. 

The other locker room is both empty and cold. Jack curses under his breath and makes his way back to the showers. He _is_ sweaty and disgusting from practice and he might as well deal with that in whatever window of time he has left. 

He feels even more slow now, like he’s moving underwater. He turns the water on high and hot, steam coming up where it hits the floor, and sticks his head under it, gasping at the shock against his skin. He wants to reach out for Ella, but if he does that now he’ll get lost entirely. She’ll drag him under and he’ll probably fall down and split his head open. Gotta hold on to what he can. 

Shampoo goes in the palm, then in his hair. He works it in slowly, hyperaware of the feeling of his fingers on his scalp, the twist of each bit of hair over glove-soft hands. The shape of his skull is mesmerizing; he runs his hands over it again and again, until one hand wanders to the curve of his own jawline and he has to explore that, too, pawing at his face until he realizes what he’s doing. 

“Fuck.” He sticks his head under the water again and shakes it hard. This is so stupid. 

Heat blossoms low in his stomach, between his hips, and rises up his spine. He lets his head drop back and the water pound on his chest, hard enough that his breathing goes ragged. He knows this feeling, knows that this is when he has to start just riding it out, letting things happen. Ella’s instincts are pushing at the bond space, filling it up to where it’s going to overflow and spill into his head and wash everything away. He knows how this goes. He’s maybe even used to it. 

He’s still not _ready_ for it. 

He stumbles back from the spray and leans against the wall, hands clenching in fists at his sides. He wants… he needs… 

It’s hard to translate Ella’s instincts into things his body can actually do. Right now she’s running, the other wolves giving chase. If it was actually about the running, it would be easy enough for Jack—he could go find a fucking treadmill. It’s not, though, and so it translates into this unbearable need for contact, to be touched, and there isn’t much he can do about that here. 

Running his hands over his own body is the literal least he can do, but it’s something. From chest to thighs and back up, then down all the way to his knees, up to his waist again, reaching around himself to palm his ass and rub across his lower back. Groping himself in the steamy shower; it’s objectively ridiculous and embarrassing, but he’s not feeling humiliated. He just wants to sob in frustration because it’s not _right_ and it’s not _enough_. 

His head falls back against the wall, hard enough that he sees stars. The feeling coming from Ella through the bond changes—the best way he can describe it is that it _twists_ , a length of rope drawn tight and then turned so the individual cords stand out. She’s narrowed her focus to one of the pursuing wolves. She’s made her choice, picked her mate, and Jack’s dick throbs painfully as his body changes its reaction to match. 

He’s distantly aware of the sound of the locker room door banging open and then shut, and then of heavy footsteps crossing the floor to the showers. Jack pushes his hair back off his forehead and blinks away the drops of water from his lashes, managing to bring the room into focus just as the door to the showers opens. 

Ella’s sense of which partner she chose was entirely down to scent, not translated into Jack’s mind at all. It takes him another minute to realize that the man who’s come after him is Sullivan, that it’s his coach standing on the other side of the spray, watching him with the glazed, half-feral eyes of a wolf-bonded who won a mating chase. 

Sully inhales deeply, sniffing the steam-filled air, and Jack knows in a vague way that he’s swept away in Declan’s instincts, that it’s not a conscious and active choice to be here for him any more than it is for Jack. He doesn’t care, though. He needs to be touched so badly it _hurts_. 

Jack stands frozen, leaning against the wall, watching as Sully slowly circles the room to approach him without walking through the water. He’s tugging clumsily at the bottom of his fleece jacket, the human in him knowing he needs to undress and the overriding wolf not having a clue how to do it. 

He gets closer, arm’s length away from Jack at best, and the heat in Jack’s gut surges up through him, burning out any kind of rational thought. He reaches for Sully, scrabbling at the fleece and t-shirt under it until between them they manage to get it up and off, baring Sully’s torso, so he can press skin to skin against Jack when he pins him to the wall. 

Jack struggles, the hazy concept in his head that a mate has to _prove_ himself before earning submission. That’s probably Ella’s idea, not his own, but they can’t be separated anymore. He rolls his head to one side, baring neck and shoulder, and Sully leans in to bite at them, leaving a line of sharp bursts of pain. 

Sully’s teeth grind against Jack’s collarbone, the pain there deep enough that it makes him cry out. The sound echoes in the bare space of the shower, mixing with the still-pounding water. He knocks his head against Sully’s, hard enough to bring him back to himself for a moment, and they stand there nose-to-nose, staring at each other. 

“Fuck,” Sully mutters, his voice rough in his throat. Jack nods a little, drags the back of his hand over his mouth, and then Sully lunges in and kisses him. It’s smart—taking the moment where they’re both human enough to redirect the need in both of them—but it’s not any more gentle than the biting was, really. Their teeth are knocking together and catching one another’s lips; there’s a hot burst of blood against Jack’s tongue that he honestly isn’t sure is his own. 

The press of Sully’s body against his is good, but not enough anymore; now that he has that, he needs more. Jack grabs at Sully’s hips, slides his hands up his back, pulls him in closer and heavier. Sully’s still wearing his khakis, belt, shoes; as far as Jack’s concerned, it’s an insurmountable problem, but he _has_ to figure it out. He needs more touch, more skin, and _dick_. He needs dick immediately. 

Sully bats his hands away and fumbles at his belt; after a few tries, he gets it open and confronts the problem of the khakis, which he solves mostly by ripping the button off. The zipper gives way as he pushes them down to his thighs. He’s wearing his boxers, but they’re easy enough to push out of the way, and now, god, Jack is so frantic with need he wants to claw his own skin off so he can get Sully _closer_. Inside him. Under skin and wrapped around bone and threaded between his muscles. 

He tries to catch Sully’s mouth again, but misses, and Sully bites him on the cheek instead, another bright spike of pain that tells him he’s either bleeding or going to have a hell of a bruise. He means to swear, but what comes out is somewhere between a groan and a howl, which earns an answering throaty, half-growled sound from Sully before he grabs Jack’s shoulders and spins him around to face the wall. 

Being pinned this way is more dangerous for his nose; Jack braces himself on his forearms to protect his face, pressing his forehead against them and trying to find a way to hold himself that gives Sully a good angle without Jack’s feet slipping on the floor. Sully is helping, but in a way that doesn’t help at all, just yanking at Jack’s hips and rubbing against him and focused on the first part of the problem without any concern for the second. The longer they fumble at it, the less Jack can remember why not splitting his head open is important anyway; getting Sully inside him is _vital_ , and everything else can wait. 

Finally, he finds a way to stand that seems to work, and Sully breathes hot against the back of his neck. The only way that having his mind overridden with his wolf seems to actually help Jack in this is that all of his inner muscles are relaxed, his body ready to take Sully in without anything more than spit. He’s aware of his pulse in every part of his body, all the way to his fingertips. Inside his head, it’s just a steady beating, sound and sensation, no words or visual thought left at all. There’s not much left of _Jack_ , really, just need and want and heartbeat and the smell of Sully pressed close to him. 

Sully bites the back of his neck as he pushes inside, and Jack yells, the sound caught between his face and the wall and echoing back into his ears. It’s a mindless sound, from deep in the gut, and Sully answers it with a snarl that makes Jack’s knees shake. The world narrows to the heat inside him and the pounding of his heart, the rough slide of Sully’s cock inside him, the still-constant hiss of the water hitting the floor. The whole experience exists somewhere outside of either pain or pleasure; neither of them make any sense as concepts. 

His body moves with every thrust, rocking helplessly forward and back, his arms scraping against the rough surface of the wall. He’s still making noises, ones that catch in his throat and emerge alien and raw in the wet air, broken up by Sully’s own rough grunts and groans as he takes him. Jack’s dick is soft, flopping against his thigh with every movement while the heat builds and builds in his core without anywhere to go. 

Sully bites him again when he comes, teeth sinking deep into his shoulder while he fills him. Jack’s whole body hitches, a shuddering tense and release as the tension snaps and the wolf self starts to pull away from his own. He turns his head, gasping for air as his own awareness filters back into his body, starting with the throbbing pain from the bite marks and working its way through him. 

He hears Sully’s rough exhalation, feels it against the back of his head, and then Sully pulls out and steps away from him. Jack winces at the pain, and the warm stickiness that follows, dragged out of him and down his thigh. More is going to follow if he doesn’t clean up. First he has to remember how to move. 

_Small steps_ , he tells himself, and pushes off the wall enough to turn around and lean back against it instead of forward. Sully cleared out fast, he registers with dull amusement. Didn’t leave anything behind, either. Jack hopes Sully has a towel in his office, or the equipment staff left one out for him, or something. Not a great state to have to drive home in. 

He takes a deep breath and takes one step at a time, moving from the wall to the spray and getting himself under it again. The bite marks on his cheek, his collarbone, his neck, his shoulder, all hurt when the water hits them; so do his forearms, and he blinks down at them, mildly surprised to find them looking vaguely like road rash from rubbing against the wall. 

He rinses his body, methodically cleans between his legs, hobbles over to his towel and wraps it around his waist for the undignified shuffle back to the main locker room, where his clothes are. And his keys, and his phone, and everything else. He needs to get home and sleep. In the back of his head, he knows Ella’s already trotting along the wolf-paths in that direction. She’ll be curled up under the trees in the back yard long before he gets there. 

** 

Jack texts in the next morning as taking a maintenance day instead of doing the optional workout. It’s not a policy that guys can take off the day after a mating, but it’s generally understood. He’s exhausted and he’s sore and if he was younger and newer to his wolf he would be an emotional mess right now. He’s not fucking coming in to lift weights and watch tape. 

He messages the whole coaching list, stays awake long enough to see one of the assistants send back a thumbs-up, and rolls himself back into his blankets. Ella is in the backyard gleefully murdering a rabbit, done with her biological obligations for another year. She sends a questioning pulse with a sense of coming into the house and curling up with him. He sends back a vague concept of _later_ and sticks his head under the pillows. 

He lets her in when he gets up to eat an hour or so later, and they have a nice cuddle before he falls asleep again. Jack knows she doesn’t have any control over how her mating affects him. He made his peace with that a long time ago. 

It still would be nice not to get bitten on the fucking face, but, well. That’s life. 

** 

The day after that is an actual practice, and so he goes in, bracing himself for the whoops and hollers when the guys see all the marks. 

“ _Jesus_ , Johnson.” Schultzy shakes his head and shoulder-checks him. “You’re gonna take so much shit tomorrow night.” 

Tomorrow night they are playing Boston. Jack does, indeed, expect to take a lot of shit. 

Kris and Geno both have to come over and examine everything, giggling like heathens, while Marino stares very fixedly into his stall and refuses to acknowledge Jack at all. Someone should probably have a talk with the kid about all this. Jack would volunteer, but he knows fuck-all about the male partner side of it. 

Practice is short and, if not sweet, at least reasonable. With the game tomorrow, the coaches aren’t going to run them into the ground. They drill, they do a short scrimmage, the powerplay goes off to do their thing for a while. Jack zones out a bit at that point, honestly. He’s achy again and he wants to go home, and the last half-hour or so of practice can usually be done on autopilot anyway. 

Sully doesn’t look at him once the whole time, even when he’s blatantly half-assing a drill. Jack shrugs it off and squirts himself in the face with his water bottle. It is what it is. 

When they circle up at the end, though, Sully glances at his clipboard and says, “Johnson.” 

Jack looks up. “Yeah?” 

“You didn’t come in for a one-on-one yesterday.” 

“Ah… no, I didn’t. That’s right.” 

Sully pins him with a cold glare. “Was I somehow unclear on the fact that everyone needed to sign up and attend a one-on-one?” 

“You were not.” Jack knows he should pick his words carefully, but he’s tired. Fuck it. “But we kind of had a one-on-one the day before.” 

Everyone chokes in unison. It’s probably the most impact Jack’s had in a team meeting all year. Sully turns a shade of red that probably isn’t healthy, and smacks his clipboard against his thigh. 

“Come to my office before you leave,” he says. “After you cool down and shower.” 

“Yes, coach.” Jack wonders if there’s any way he can convince Geno to take him to the parking lot and run him over with his stupid giant car. That would probably be a relief. 

The guys give him more shit, of course. Some things are a constant. “Don’t make eye contact,” is Kris' advice. “He can smell fear, so stay downwind,” is Horny’s idea of helping. Geno just looks at him and laughs. 

Sid grabs him by the shoulder and gives him a serious look. “I’m sure it’s nothing. We’re all professionals here.” 

Jack gently moves out of his grip. “It’s fine, seriously. I’m not worried.” 

“You should probably apologize for what you said on the ice.” 

Jack feels a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Sure.” 

The door to Sully’s office is closed, and he has to knock and wait what feels like a very long time before he hears, “Come in.” That kind of pause feels like a cue to close the door behind him, too. Maybe he should be worried after all, and avoid eye contact, and figure out what _downwind_ means inside a building. 

Sully looks at him for a long moment after he sits down, tapping his pen on the edge of his desk. “So I do have some notes for you about your play. But I think you know what they are.” 

“Same stuff as usual?” At Sully’s nod, Jack shrugs. “Yeah. I’ll keep at it.” 

“Okay.” Sully glances at his notes and tosses the pen aside. “Other than that, I just wanted to clear the air in case there was any lingering—” 

“No.” Jack shakes his head. “We’re both adults. We’ve both been doing this a while. It’s fine. There’s nothing lingering, there’s nothing to talk about, it’s fine.” 

Sully looks at him steadily. “I did some damage to your face.” 

“It happens.” Jack shrugs again, then freezes as Sully reaches across the desk and brushes his fingertips over the bite mark. 

“Also,” Sully says, his voice dropping into a lower register that makes a shiver run down Jack’s spine, “I’m pretty sure I owe you one.” 

Jack forgets how to breathe, much less answer. The best he can manage is an undignified “Uh?” 

“Like you said, I’ve been doing this a while. I’m familiar with how it goes. Usually I stick around and make sure that everything is… taken care of.” He pauses a moment, still looking Jack right in the eye. “But usually it doesn’t happen in a goddamn shower that’s still running and ruining my shoes.” 

Of course Jack’s voice comes back online before his brain. “You were thinking about your shoes?” 

Sully laughs, low and hot, and Jack shivers _again_. Somehow Sully has figured out how to tap right into his nervous system. 

“Anyway,” Sully says, folding his hands on the desk. “I owe you one. Just let me know if and when you decide you want to collect.” 

Jack sits there for a minute, listening to his heart pounding in his ears. “I didn’t, uh. Expect that.” 

Sully shrugs. “Take your time thinking about it.” He gets up and moves to open the door, and Jack realizes he’s being sent on his way. “You know where to find me.”


End file.
